


Daddy

by eggblue



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-09
Updated: 2006-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:18:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggblue/pseuds/eggblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He knows who he is and what he's never needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy

There’s nothing like the sound of it. Just the name, the word, calls up the frustrating feel of it and it wraps around them both. It cuts through the history and squeezes till it is all there is.

“Daddy,” he gasps like a curse. And Jason shuts his face tight and digs his nails into the softness just beyond Bruce’s bones, reaches down and pulls his claws through the edge of the wiry curled hairs, through the only flawless flesh, through the scars up over his hips, through the hard skin that gives, just until it doesn’t, to the slick skin where Jason disappears and reappears and disappears again, slides into, with the awe of a virgin, or an idiot, or some dog, and that’s how much control he’s pretending to have, because pretending is all they have sometimes, the way Jason reaches under and pulls again with nails and rasps, “Say it again, say it again…” and breathes through his teeth.

He can hear Bruce thinking, hear him decide, and “Daddy,” he says again and Jason hears the moan cut off when he shoves, because he can’t even wait for it, wait to hear it, because it’s his name and he knows what his name is.

Jason feels like laughing beneath the red mask because there is no one he wants to be less and no one he wants to be more than the missing person that name belongs to. But it’s Bruce beneath him and Bruce’s skin sticking to the table and streaking sweat over the black varnish and Bruce thinking of the place where daddy lives under the hard lines of his face-- he knows it he knows it-- and stares at Bruce who rocks up onto the balls of his feet like he can’t help it right before he comes.

Jason grabs him and squeezes and squeezes-- “Say it”-- through gritted teeth, and watches Bruce throw out his arms at the elbows, fan his hands, shake and grab the table underneath and push up-- push back-- push up and scrape his head against the black table that catches his breath in a fog every time he grunts and pulls his lips over the surface.

Jason hears the come hit the floor, he swears it, quiet and loud as Bruce’s last whisper-- “daddy”-- and feels himself existing only in the tenseness of Bruce’s body, gripping and falling backward, held upright only by the need to thrust again, to get there and climb up onto Bruce’s back, to teeter-totter on his hips and thrust only until the give of their skin stops, until his thoughts slam back into his body and-- “Bruce!”-- and his hands are numb, gripping Bruce’s hips, and the rest of him is numb and he doesn’t feel the ground and doesn’t feel the room and doesn’t feel himself, just feels the body of Bruce and the way everything Bruce is-- was, will ever be-- stems from his own flesh and his own belief and he understands every breath of Bruce’s body as if it were his own, and feels it all disappear as he shakes for the last time, breathes, and collapses back down again and breathes:

“Daddy…”

He knows who he is, too, and what he’s never needed, and who he’s never allowed himself to miss, and who he has substituted, and who is to blame.


End file.
